


Cellar Dweller

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [74]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joyce takes some action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cellar Dweller

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published August 11, 2005
> 
> Spoilers through Him. Took me a few tries, but I finally figured out what needed to be done here. It’s always important to remember how things relate back to the OT3. That’s usually what holds me up, focusing too much on the season itself and not its effects on the characters. Plus being in close proximity to the other half of the Brain helps. :)

Spike sat on the cot, taking in his surroundings. It contained the usual residential basement fare: Christmas decorations and camping gear and old thing no longer used that couldn’t quite be parted with for sentimental value. He went over to the camping gear. Somehow it was difficult picturing the Summers women making a go of it in the wilderness.

Joyce’s light laugh came to him from the stairs. “I honestly couldn’t tell you why I keep half those things. I don’t think the camping gear has been used since well before Hank and I got divorced. And possibly only once then.”

Turning, Spike saw her making her way down the steps, tray carefully balanced as she descended. The rich, sweet scent of hot chocolate assailed his senses.

“Ah, Joyce, it’s been too long.” He smiled as he went over and took it from her hands, setting it down on the makeshift table they had put up for him. “Can’t remember the last time we did this.”

“Too long,” she said, returning his smile. Picking up a mug, she went over and had a seat on the edge of the cot. “I wish I could offer you something better, but I figured this would at least give you your own space. Oh, and Xander will be over this week to run a line down for the cable.”

“Joyce, this is really too much. I would have been fine on the couch,” he replied honestly. Anything was better than where had been the last few months. He’d had his reasons for staying under the school. Even at his worst moments, he knew it wasn’t the best place to be, but someone had to keep an eye on It. So he had to stay there. That was his job, when he could remember. To keep an eye on It. Keep It from doing things. There was something down there that It wanted, but Spike hadn’t ever been able to figure out what. So he stayed to watch and see. Had to make things up to her. Try and stop It if he could. But It knew how to play him.

Didn’t mean it had been good for him though. For the first time since he’d returned to Sunnydale, Spike’s thoughts weren’t so muddled, made sense most of the time now. Of course not having It around taunting him probably helped. Lifting the remaining mug, he sipped carefully, savoring the sweet velvet of the liquid, made even sweeter by the mini marshmallows Joyce included. The woman always knew how to make a good thing even better.

“It was no trouble and you know it. I’m happy to have you here.” Then she said, her eyes dancing, “But if you really wanted to thank me, you could do some of that laundry sitting over there.”

“Trust me, you’re better off doing it yourself. Just ask Harris,” he chuckled, remembering when he’d managed to turn all of the whelp’s whites a very pleasant shade of pink. Anya didn’t object none, which had only infuriated the boy more.

“I guess I’ll make do,” Joyce sighed, attempting to sound put-upon.

Spike leaned against the table, studying her closely. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Business has been slow, so I’ve been taking Wednesday afternoons off,” she said simply. “And we really haven’t had a chance to talk in awhile so I thought, why not?”

She wanted to talk, huh? Spike tried to come up with something neutral but that wasn’t his standard. He decided to go with an old stand-by. “So, your men been treatin’ you alright, yeah?”

A faint blush rose to Joyce’s cheeks in response. “Yes, Spike, Ethan and Rupert are still treating me well. When I see them,” she added with a slight note of melancholy.

Curious, he wondered aloud, “I thought Rupes wouldn’t have to travel so much with Red back in town.”

“There’s trouble that he doesn’t think the Council can handle.” She sipped her chocolate thoughtfully. “And he’s right, I know he is.”

“But it doesn’t make it any easier knowing he’s out there risking his neck,” he said knowingly.

“No, it really doesn’t,” she agreed with a heavy sigh. “And with Ethan helping out were he can . . . There are some days I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to have fallen for a nice, normal, oblivious coward.”

“Now, I know you don’t mean that,” Spike said pointedly. “You’d trade two good men for a useless, self-serving prat just because he wasn’t running around facing all sorts of danger?”

“Of course not. Hank Summers was enough of a useless, self-serving prat to satisfy my needs in that respect for this life and any that may follow,” she joked, but there was a note of bitterness. She took a deep breath and let it out shakily. “I don’t want to think of my life without them. I had a taste of that last year, and I really didn’t like it, but at least I knew they were alive. I don’t think I could bear it.”

Spike set his mug down and went to kneel before Joyce, gently taking her free hand in his.

“You could bear it if it came to that. You’re not made of such weak stuff, Joyce Summers. It’d hurt like a sonofabitch, but you’d keep livin’. But it won’t come to that,” he said with emphasis. “They’re too smart to let anything get them.”

She gave him a watery smile. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a good man, Spike?”

He winced at the words. “’m not. But I appreciate you saying it.”

“Spike.” She squeezed his hand, forcing him to look at her. “You’ve been a good man for a long time now, whether you want to see it or not.”

Shaking his head, Spike tried to block out her words. Didn’t need them. Didn’t want them. They were lies. Nice lies, but lies just the same.

“Is that why you went after your soul?” she asked hesitantly. “To prove to us you really are good?”

He had been wondering when she’d get around to asking. Even Buffy hadn’t broached the subject yet. She was the reason, after all. Well, that wasn’t quite true. It had been when he set out, but somewhere in the middle of all the trials it had stopped being about Buffy. In the end, he had done it because it was something he needed to do. All he said was, “Wanted to see if I could do it. Looks like I could. Not my smartest move ever, looking back. I miss sanity,” he forced a laugh. “But I’m makin’ do.”

“You seem better, now that you’re away from the school,” Joyce observed. She shivered. “I didn’t like that place. It felt like . . . now I’m going to sound crazy, but it felt like there was something there, watching.”

Spike gave a start. The lady had no idea how right she was.

“It’s not a good place, I’ll give you that,” he agreed finally. The night of Joyce’s birthday, when they’d found out and he’d run, Spike had sought sanctuary in that church, hoping to make sense of things. And he had. For one brief moment, as the blessed wood had seared his flesh, he had had one brilliant moment of lucidity. He had to stay in the basement and keep them safe. But when he had returned, Its efforts had only redoubled, driving him further out of his mind until in desperation he accepted the offer to stay at the Summers’ house. For the first time in months, his thoughts were under his own control, mostly, and the screams were faint whispers on the edges of his consciousness.

Joyce seemed to take his silence as her cue to leave, standing. “I should probably go get the dishes done. They won’t do themselves, after all.”

He nodded, giving her leave as he handed her his empty mug. “Thank you again, Joyce. This means a lot to me.”

“It’s nothing, really,” she said warmly. “And if you get lonely, you can come upstairs, you know. Just give me enough warning and I’ll close the blinds.”

“Will do. But I think I’ve got some sleep I should catch up on.”

“I’ll keep the noise to a minimum, then.” With that, she left him, heading upstairs and leaving him alone.

He was half-tempted to take her up on her offer, follow her upstairs, but he couldn’t use her as a crutch. He was a big boy after all, could spend a few hours by himself, right? And sleep really wasn’t sounding all that bad. True, there were always the dreams, but maybe they wouldn’t be as bad here. He felt safer here, somehow.

Spike was just getting comfortable on the cot when an all-too familiar voice chastised him from the shadows.

“Naughty boy. Now you’ve gone and gotten yourself a new mummy,” Dru pouted as she came to stand next to him. “You don’t love me anymore, do you?”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said forcefully, screwing his eyes shut and curling up, trying to will the thing away. Not that it had ever worked.

“You went away and left me all alone. That’s so very rude, Spike. There was no one for me to talk to down there,” Dru’s voice complained.

He snorted at that. “If you really were Dru, the stars and pixies would have given you plenty of company.”

“Get a soul and there goes your sense of fun.” This time it was Buffy, her voice heavy with derision.

Spike opened her eyes. It was getting good, even managed to get the Buffy Summers’ disapproving frown perfect.

“Can’t you just bugger off?”

It laughed Buffy’s laugh. “Come on, Spike, did you really think a change of scenery would keep me away from you? I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Spike ignored the chill the words sent through him. “Well, I’m more than done with you.”

Its eyes rolled. “There was a time I could have wiped you from existence for that kind of disrespect, but things change.” It looked up the stairs towards where Joyce had disappeared then looked back at Spike. “You really care for her, don’t you?”

He sat up at that. “Don’t you dare go near her!”

“Like you have any say,” It scoffed. “I could have fun with her. Especially when she thinks she has so little to offer.” It took on a new form that Spike didn’t know. A trim woman with shoulder-length dark hair and what should have been warm, brown eyes regarded him with derision. When It spoke, Its voice was low and measured, underlain with a hint of seduction. “She has no idea what I have in store for her.”  



End file.
